The cicadas are calling

That’s the thing about this city, 6 million humans cramped into a space less than half the size of London. Visitors to Singapore would expect encounters with concrete jungles at every turn. Personal space? Forget it.

And yet, I found myself wandering in a nature reserve, no one else in sight. Only birds and butterflies flitting from flower to flower, as I strolled lazily through well tended paths, under the shade of mighty giant-leaved tropical trees. I am accompanied by the high-pitched whine of a cicada, a brown winged insect native to Asia and I am instantly transported to an ancient time, when I first faced the Taman Negara tropical forest – which rose like a Great Wall of China, except it was green, albeit just as impenetrable – and by nightfall, the deafening wail of cicadas reach such a crescendo, it was difficult to fall asleep.

Where is he now? My mind stayed in that 1980s era. We met backpacking in Thailand and decided to travel down the peninsula together thereafter. I spoke a little German and he struggled in English but our communion was abundantly clear in physical exchanges where words were of little use. To say it was telepathic would sound cliché – but that was exactly how it was when our eyes met, we instantly knew what the other was thinking and the laughter that followed came so effortlessly. Those indeed were halcyon days.

‘There’s a Buffy Fish owl in that tree,’ my husband of 20 years had his camera with an enormous telescopic lens aimed at a point up in the foliage. I had rounded a corner and was back where a group of bird-watching enthusiasts were “camped”.

I smiled. That’s all he lives for…birds. I should count myself lucky I suppose that the birds fascinating him are feathered and not two legged floosies.

But my smile didn’t reach my heart. It was empty and lonely. There is nothing lonelier than a loveless marriage.

The primary reason we were in Singapore was to visit his mother. She was 93 and although she knew full well that our home was in England, she never let her one and only son forget that he was the heir to her vast fortunes. To this empress dowager, he should be waiting on her hand and foot – and so should his wife, the daughter-in-law who was an alien, who abducted her precious son while he was an innocent studying law in London. Brought up by hippy parents, my life was as liberal as Bob’s was traditional. Yet, he rebelled. And the old harridan never let me forget that it was after he met me.

In front of him, mummy dearest was the epitome of cultured politeness and finesse. She was still perfectly coiffured, dyed-black hair put up in a bun, with a diamond encrusted hair comb neatly placed to accentuate her beauty. There was no doubt, when she was young, she was indeed ravishing. The faded photographs on the walls of her palatial mansion were testament to this. However, if there was a way to capture souls on print – hers would be pitch-black.

Just then, I heard Bob’s mobile’s call chime. He fished it out of his shorts and walked away from the crowd to answer. Mummy dearest checking out why her son wasn’t by her side, holding her hand, spoon-feeding her favourite food into her gaping greedy gob.

‘Mum wants me to buy her some pork porridge for breakfast. Could you take the Merz and do this for her? I really want to hang around to try and capture the owl in flight. I’ll take a cab back once I get this image.’

I looked up at the owl – his usual yellow eyes were now closed. The wait for it to fly from his perch would probably be a long one.

‘Bob, you know what your mum is like. She only wants you. There is no point for me to go running around trying to find her bloody porridge – which in the end, she would only take a spoonful, spit it out and tell me it’s too hot, too cold or too bland – she’s harder to please than Goldilocks.’

‘Elise, don’t go all drama-mama on me. She’s old. The old dear just wants a bit of pampering. Just humour her like a good daughter-in-law. I know she treats you unfairly but it’s just a bit of jealousy. Mum hates sharing and dad’s philandering ways before he passed had made her even clingier.’

I didn’t feel like arguing – there was no point. I took the Merz and drove away, leaving him with his birds. Instead of heading to a hawker centre, I headed towards the airport. Life in this city was no longer an option for me. True the streets were clean and supreme efforts had been made to make every corner green. However, it was all too contrived, everything planned and controlled. That was the problem…Singapore reminded me of my mother-in-law. She wanted above all to have control over everyone. Living with a man I stopped loving years ago was no longer an option either. This trip had shown me how his mother had him wrapped up tight around her finger. If I stayed, she would try to do the same to me. The extent of her manipulation appalled me and the worst part was, I couldn’t be sure if Bob did his mother’s bidding out of filial piety or greed. Fortunately, I had neither of these.

Instead, I had my passport in my bag and my personal credit cards. These I used to get myself out – in every sense of the word.

After a short flight, the plane landed and I emerged into the cool mountain breeze of Chiang Mai. I saw green jungles along a large river as I drove my rental car up into the hills. By evening, I was sitting on a verandah, sipping a glass of chilled Chablis, listening to the deafening wail of cicadas…